Spring in a Small Indiana Town

Spring in a Small Indiana Town

for Ron

The maple leaflets spreading
Out against the morning sky
In April rain flutter at the clouds

As if they could sweep them together
And keep them forever—
As if I could write my love for you

With the sweep of a felt tip.
And the morning clouds will ride
To noon with the sun at their backs.

But the leaflets just grow until fall
And I just scribble out these verses
That water my heart’s thirst.

And all the while, water seeps out
Where they cut through the rocks
Along Highway 101 outside of Brookville.